Something Unexpected
by T. Fowler
Summary: After the battle on the Helicarrier and being dragged out of the Potomac, Steve expects to have to search for Bucky. She never expects him to show up on night and demand she leave with him. This is in the "Something More Important" universe, after "Something to Live For" and before "Something to Wait For" genderqueer!Steve.
1. Chapter 1

There is the slightest hint of a noise, and Steve wakes. She sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and casts her gaze around the room, wondering what woke her.

She almost misses him. He's so perfectly concealed in the shadows, hidden except for where the moonlight slashes across his face. She has no doubt it's deliberate. He wants to be found, wants to be seen.

Steve swallows.

"Bucky."

He steps out of the corner. "They know," he says, voice graveled, like he hasn't spoken in a long time.

"What? Know what?"

"About you." There's an urgency in his voice, a tremor. Like he's scared.

"About me? What about…" But she trails off, realizing what he's talking about.

The truth about her sex has been spreading like wildfire over the news since Natasha's info dump. "Captain America or Miss America?" the headlines screamed, as if a woman couldn't be an Army captain. And that was just the mildest of headlines. Talk shows and radio shows had been inundated with talk about her true sex. Fox News was having a field day. At least, they were when Steve had bothered to pay attention. She'd woken up at the hospital, spent about ten minutes watching—against Sam's advice—then turned it off.

She didn't care. She just didn't care. It wasn't important. Bucky was alive and that's all that mattered. Everything else could take a flying leap.

In a move so fast she almost can't see it, Bucky is at the side of the bed. His hand clamps around her wrist. "We need to leave. Now."

"Bucky, calm down. It's fine."

"No." He shakes his head, brow furrowing. "They know." He tugs at her wrist. "Now."

She hesitates a moment, then climbs out of bed.

Bucky takes it as encouragement and starts dragging her across the room toward the window.

"Wait. Bucky, wait."

"No time."

"I have time to get dressed. No one's coming right this instant. Let me at least put my pants on."

He looks at her, then at the window. He's clearly anxious, tension radiating from his body in waves. But, after a moment, he nods and releases Steve's wrist.

Without taking her eyes off Bucky, she crosses the room to her dresser. She pulls out a pair of jeans and slides them over her boxers. Then, hesitantly, she reaches into the top drawer where she keeps her binder.

Bucky makes a noise in his throat and steps forward.

Steve immediately lifts her hands, showing that she doesn't have anything in them. "I just need my binder." At Bucky's blank look, she adds, "For my breasts. To keep them down. I'm not going for a weapon."

He frowns but jerks his chin up in a nod.

She grabs her binder and hesitates. She doesn't think that Bucky will do anything to her. After all, he had dragged her out of the Potomac. He's here. He probably—probably—wasn't going to shoot her in the back.

She can't bring herself to turn her back to him. So, flushing hotly, she pulls of her tank top and slides the chest binder on.

Bucky's eyes never leave her face. He's practically vibrating with anxiety. If he'd been his old self, Steve has no doubt he'd be tapping his foot or waving his watch in her face. Instead, he stands there, fists clenched, jaw tight.

She slides a shirt on, then quickly pulls on socks and her boots. "Okay." She grabs her wallet from the dresser and slips it into her back pocket. "Where are we going? Should I take anything?"

Bucky steps forward and grabs her wrist. "Let's go."

"I should call Sam. Leave a note."

His hand tightens until her bones creak. " _No_. It's not safe."

"Buck…"

"No." He drags her to the bedroom window and opens it.

"Can I at least take my shield?"

Bucky stops. Tilts his head while he thinks. Then he gives a brisk nod.

The shield is propped against the wall next to her bed. She slides it in its case and slings the strap over her arm. "Okay." She looks at the window Bucky is standing next to. "We can go through the front door. There's no one…"

"Can't be sure. It's everywhere."

She sighs, but she also knows there's no reasoning with him. Not right now. She can't be sure how much he's remembered or how much of what Hydra had done to him was still with him. The fact he is here, coming for her is heartening, but she knows not to get too hopeful. She'd read the files, and those were just the tip of the iceberg. Bucky, her Bucky, might not ever be coming back.

But she is going to do what she needs to get something of him back.

So, she climbs out of the window and down the side of the building. She follows Bucky to a nearby SUV and gets inside.

As soon as the door is closed, Bucky goes tearing off into the night. Steve, even though she loves thrills and enjoys riding fast and jumping out of planes and all that, has to grab onto the handle above the window. Bucky drives like he's in the middle of a battlefield. Even with the streets being practically empty, he takes turns sharply and weaves in an out of what little traffic there is.

"Um… where are we going, Bucky?" she asks as they make their way out of the city.

He doesn't answer.

She tries again. "So, uh. You remember about me."

"Went to the museum," he says. "They didn't have the story right."

"About me?"

"It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. They said you were a man, and I knew it was wrong. Then I saw the news."

She nods. "Yeah, it's all over. It's a little weird. Especially since it's not…" She breaks off, deciding now isn't the time to get into semantics. Trying to explain that she was genderqueer or nonbinary to a man who'd essentially been kept on ice for the last seventy years was probably futile. It was hard enough to explain it to people as it was.

"They're going to lock you up," Bucky says.

She blinks and shakes her head. "Buck, no. No, they don't do that anymore. I can be whatever I want. Live however I want. They won't do anything."

But Bucky shakes his head and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

They drive for hours. She finds herself dozing off a couple of times, waking in confusion and disorientation. Bucky's a silent presence next to her, so focused on driving. They stop once, around eleven in the morning, for gas. Steve gets a few sandwiches and waters from the convenience store and wolfs two down before Bucky finishes gassing the van. She offers the others to Bucky, but he shakes his head.

"You need to eat."

"I don't need to eat."

She frowns. "Of course, you do."

"Only enough to complete the mission."

What is he talking about? "There is no mission."

"You're my mission."

"What? No. No, Bucky, that's over. Hydra's gone. We won, and you're free. You don't have to kill me."

Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. "You're my mission," he repeats, emphasizing "you're".

Steve licks her lips, trying to figure out what he means. What the mission is. What Bucky is trying to do.

What Bucky has always done.

"You're trying to protect me."

A nod.

Okay. Okay, she can deal with this. She hadn't thought that Bucky was trying to kill her, but having explicit confirmation is nice.

"Okay," she says. "I'm the mission, so I'm calling the shots. And I say you eat something now."

"I don't need…"

"You were giving a modified version of the serum that I got. It boosts our metabolism. We need more fuel to keep us going." She holds the sandwich out. "You could go for a long time without eating, but you won't be performing at optimal levels. Eat the damn sandwich."

Bucky gazes at her for a long moment. He's expressionless and disheveled. There's scruff on his face and tufts of hair sticking out from his baseball cap. His eyes look… uncertain. A little confused.

"What do you usually eat on a mission?

He thinks about it a moment. "Bars."

"Bars. Like… protein bars? Ration bars?"

He nods. "I have some. Something like what they fed me." His nose crinkles. "It tastes… different."

"Different how?"

He frowns, nose crinkling a little more. Then he shakes his head. "Too much flavor."

"Yeah. Even in the army, the ration bars, the kind that they gave us, were… Well, bland is too good a word for them. They tasted like ash. Like mud."

Bucky nods. "The ones from the store are… too much."

Sympathy wells in her. She kind of likes the taste of today's protein bars, now that she's gotten used to them. But to someone who was used to eating something with no flavor—and she had no doubt the bars were deliberately kept flavorless to deny Bucky even the pleasure of eating—it must be overwhelming.

She presses the sandwich into his hand. "Trust me. This doesn't have that problem."

After a moment, unwraps it and takes a bite. His nose wrinkles ever so slightly, but he finishes the sandwich in a few large bites. When Steve hands him a water, he takes it without comment and gulps it down.

"Can we go?" he asks when the bottle is empty.

Steve grins. "Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

They drive through the day and well into the night until Bucky finally comes to a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. Steve's lost track of where they've gone. Frankly, she doesn't really care. Bucky isn't trying to kill her, and she trusts him. Trusts that he'll take her somewhere safe, somewhere that she won't be in any danger. That's the point of this, right? To protect her?

So, she gets out of the SUV and stretches. Bucky comes around, takes her by the wrist, and leads her inside the cabin.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bucky. You don't need…" She stops as Bucky lets go of her wrist and goes to secure the door.

Steve rubs her face and then looks around the room. "Where are we?"

"Safehouse."

"So, any of Hydra's remaining agents will know about it?"

Bucky shakes his head. "It was set up for me. If a job went south, and I was compromised, I was to come here. The head of Hydra would come for me. Him, or someone with the code word. I was supposed to kill anyone else who came." He meets Steve's eyes. "No one else knows."

"So, the secret died with Pierce." At least, she hopes it did. Sounds almost too good to be true, but it's not like she's defenseless if Hydra goons show up.

Bucky goes to the wall. Flips open a panel and keys in a code. The wall slides open to reveal an arsenal of weapons. "You should get some sleep," he says, taking out a sniper rifle. "I'll stand guard."

"Bucky, no. No one is coming. And if they are, let's not shoot first and ask questions later. I have friends. They might come after me and I don't want…"

"Friends? Did you contact them?"

The urgency in his voice takes her aback, and she shakes her head. "No. No, I didn't contact anyone. Didn't tell anyone. But they have resources, and since I just disappeared…"

Bucky checks the weapon for ammo. "I'll stand watch."

Steve lets out a slow breath and walks to Bucky. Puts her hands on the rifle. "Bucky. The world has changed. No one is going to throw me in an asylum for being what I am. No one is going to beat me or lock me up or force me to change. No one is going to hurt me. It's okay."

A muscle twitches in Bucky's jaw.

Steve smiles tentatively. "I was born a girl. But I started living as a man when I was young. I always thought I was… I don't know. Wrong. But there are other people like me and words that people use to describe people like me. And support groups. And doctors who help people like me."

Bucky's eyes flare, and he shakes his head.

"No! No, not like you're thinking. If I… well, I can't, because of the serum, but if I didn't have it, if I was like other people, I could have a surgery. It could make me a man, if I wanted. Which I don't. But I could."

For a long moment, Bucky stares at her and, for the briefest second, Steve thinks she's gotten through to him.

And then, Bucky steps back, hands tightening on his weapon. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch." He moves around her and walks up the stairs.

Steve sighs and rubs her eyes. Okay, this was going to take some work. Until then, food and then sleep.

Luckily, the kitchen is fully stocked. Not with anything fresh, but there's frozen food and canned goods. She makes herself a quick meal, leaving enough for Bucky, if he ever chooses to come down from his hiding place. Then, she heads upstairs to find a bed.

There are rooms, but no beds. A few chairs, but no other furniture. This place was not made with comfort in mind. She finds a barren mattress on the floor and a threadbare blanket in a closet. Well, she's slept on worse. She climbs onto the mattress, wraps the blanket around her, and quickly falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

She's not sure if it's a noise or the sunlight that wakes her, but she comes to herself hours later. She feels rested and refreshed, if a little creaky from the thin mattress. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she sits up.

Bucky's crouched in the corner. He's got his rifle resting on his knees and he's watching Steve. Breathing shallowly. Not blinking. Very still. If his expression hadn't changed slightly when she looks at him, she'd think he was asleep with his eyes open.

"Morning, Buck," she says, and it feel so good to be able to say that again. So good, in fact, she can't help the lift of her mouth when she says it. Her whole face gets into it and she knows she's beaming. Words she thought she'd never say again, and now…

He doesn't say anything back.

"You know my name, right? I mean, you went to the museum."

"Steve," he says. Then, a look of uncertainty crossing his face, he says hesitantly, "Stephanie?"

She lets out a gasp of a laugh. "No one's called me that since I was born. Everyone always called me Stevie, after my dad."

He nods.

She sits up all the way and pulls her legs to her body to sit cross legged. "What's the plan here, Bucky? We going to stay here forever?"

He shoots her a look that clearly indicates that she's a moron. "We have to keep on the run. So they don't find us."

"They will eventually find us. My friends, Natasha and Fury, they will find us. They have resources… But, hey, it's okay," she assures him when she sees that Bucky is starting to get agitated. "They already knew. Well, Fury already knew. Natasha I just…" She flushes, thinking about it. "I just never got around to telling."

It was shameful, and she knows it. Two years and she'd never gotten around to telling the person who amounted to her closest friend about her gender. And it wasn't like she'd tried and never found the right moment. She'd just never tried. Never wanted to. She liked the simplicity of life being a man. Or, rather, having Natasha think she was a man. If it had ever come up, Steve had been prepared to tell her. Been prepared to tell all of them, the whole Strike team, all the Avengers, everyone. But she knew it'd change things somehow, especially if Rumlow and the others had found out (although… now she wondered. If Rumlow had always know. Because Hydra had known, and he'd been Hydra.)

But Natasha…

When the computerize version of Zola had greeted Steve by her name—her birth name—Natasha had laughed and said something about a faulty recording. When Zola had explained that he was not a recording and his memory banks were never faulty, well…

"What is it talking about, Steve?" she'd asked, humor sliding from her face to be replaced by confusion. "Why is it calling you Stephanie?"

Steve had felt hot all over. Her face was flushed and sweat beaded on her forehead. Her head swum a little, too. It was like her worst nightmare, only instead of facing down people who wanted to hurt her because of what she was, she was facing someone she trusted more than anyone else. Someone in whose hands Steve regularly put her life.

But she'd never trusted her enough. Never trusted Natasha with Steve's true self.

"Yes, Captain. What am I talking about?" Zola had taunted.

"I was born a woman," Steve had said haltingly. She'd bitten her lower lip and shrugged. "I'm… genderqueer."

Natasha had looked shocked and a little angry. "And you never told me."

She'd shaken her head.

A look of comprehension had flashed over Natasha's face. "But Clint knows, doesn't he?"

"I didn't tell him," she'd said defensively. "He just knew."

"Christ. Clint knows, Fury for damn sure knew, and a weird dead German computer knows."

From there, things had devolved pretty quickly. Zola had successfully distracted them, alerting Hydra to their location and bombing the hell out of them. There hadn't been time to talk about it until they'd made it to Sam's.

Natasha had been toweling off her hair, and Steve had come in, fresh from the shower, finding her looking vacantly into space.

"You okay?" Steve had asked.

"Yeah."

"What's going on?" Steve had said, sitting next to her.

She'd let out a long sigh and stared into the distance. "When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for HYDRA. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business."

Natasha had smiled faintly. "I owe you."

"It's okay."

"If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life-and you be honest with me—would you trust me to do it?"

"I would now," Steve had said. She'd smiled. "And I'm always honest."

The words had fallen with an audible clunk between them.

Natasha had looked at her for a long moment, then shaken her head. "It's okay, you know. That you didn't tell me."

"I should have."

"What difference would it have made? It doesn't change who you are. You're still a big dork." She shrugs and gives Steve a half smile. "You weren't hiding anything, right? You were just being who you were."

Steve had closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. "My whole life, there's been this pressure. This fear. What if people find out, what's going to happen to me? What are they going to do? It was always there. And now, suddenly, I'm somewhere where it doesn't matter. I mean, it does, and I'm aware that there's still hate and bigotry and violence against people like me, but…"

"But you're Captain America. You're a super soldier."

She'd nodded. "It's just been nice being me without having that pressure. That fear. And I guess I was afraid that, if I came out, things would get complicated again." She'd met Natasha's eyes. "It had nothing to do with trust. Or with you."

She'd smiled. "I get that." There'd been a pause. "So. Are you still he, or…"

Steve had thought about it a moment, then nodded. _She_ and _her_ were still reserved for how she thought of herself and for Bucky.

Which, at the time, had brought a pang to Steve's chest. And then, about two days later, her world had been turned upside down by Bucky's reappearance.

Bucky, who was sitting across the room from her, watching her closely.

"The people I work with," Steve tried again. "They know about me. The Avengers and Fury and Natasha. They all know. And it's okay."

Bucky frowned. "I have to protect you."

"I know. I get that. But there's nothing to protect me from. Not anymore." She sighs and rubs at her face again. "What do you remember?"

"Remember?"

"About yourself. About your past. About me. About anything."

Bucky frowns. "I remember… The Helicarrier."

"That's it?"

"You… You were in the shower. But you were different. Skinny. Small. Short."

"Before the serum."

He nods. "I pulled down your shorts."

She blushes. "Yeah. That's how you found out what I am."

He nods. "And we left. To protect you."

"Because times were different. It's okay now. No one is going to hurt me. Do you remember anything else?"

Bucky stands. "You should eat."

She sighs and stands up. "You eat, too."

"I don't…"

"Yes, you do. I eat, you eat." She hesitates, then says, "And I sleep, you sleep."

Bucky frowns and gives her a look. It's a look that says that he's totally unconvinced by Steve's logic.

Undeterred, Steve says, "Let's go eat."

* * *

Steve makes them both big bowls of oatmeal and mugs of instant coffee. It's bland and tasteless, but filling. Bucky eats, hesitantly at first, then with a brisk efficiency that seems more mechanical that anything else. He's not eating for the pleasure of eating, not that there's really any pleasure to be found. He drinks the coffee black. After a quick search of the cupboards reveals there is no sugar or creamer, Steve does the same.

"I'm going to take a shower," Steve says.

Bucky thinks about it a moment, then rises and leads Steve to the bathroom. He checks inside, pistol drawn, clearing the room for threats, then steps out to leave Steve in peace. There's only the tiniest window near the ceiling, only enough to let a little light through, not enough to crawl through. Not that she's going to escape. Leaving Bucky is the last thing on her mind.

She's in the shower, under a stream of lukewarm water when she realizes there's no soap. She rubs down as best she can and gets out still feeling dirty, not refreshed at all. A cursory search of the bathroom reveals there's no toothpaste either.

She puts on her same clothes and goes downstairs. Bucky is crouching by the widow, looking out.

"We need to get supplies," she says.

"We have supplies. Food enough for weeks. Months."

"But we don't have soap or toothpaste or changes of clothes. I'm not living in this one pair of shorts for any longer than I need. Plus, I'd appreciate a real blanket, maybe a mattress."

Bucky rises and turns to her. "We aren't staying here. Just until things settle down. Then we leave again."

"Then we get sleeping bags. Something we can take with us." She crosses her arms. "Come on, Bucky, you know I'm right. We need to keep ourselves clean."

He thinks about it, head tilted. "There's a town about ten miles from here. They probably have a store. We can get supplies. But you can't contact anyone. No phones."

She sighs internally, but nods. "I'm not leaving you, Buck. I'm with you, right? 'til the end of the line, remember?"

His eyes narrow. "Let's go."

They get back into the SUV and tear down the road to town.

"You know," Steve says as they whip around a bend so fast her stomach lurches, "we'd be less conspicuous if you slowed down a little. We're not being chased."

Bucky doesn't say anything, but after a moment he eases up, and the SUV slows to a more reasonable speed. Steve breathes easier the rest of the ride.

They get to town and quickly find the local Wal-Mart. Once inside, Steve grabs a cart. She glances around casually, scanning the crowd of shoppers until she finds what she's looking for: a security camera. She stares at it a moment, then looks away. She can only hope that will be enough.

Bucky is a silent specter at her side while they weave their way through the store. She goes to the men's department and grabs shirts, jeans, underwear, and socks for the two of them. Then, they make their way to the toiletries where she gets soap, shampoo, toothbrushes, and toothpaste. She also picks up some feminine supplies, because she doesn't know how long she and Bucky will be on the road or when she'll have the chance again. Better safe than bleeding all over.

After they've stocked up on toiletries, she takes them to the camping section and gets a couple of sleeping bags. She'd like to get some air mattresses, too, but she figures that would be pushing it.

The Wal-Mart has a grocery section, so she goes over for some fresh produce. Bucky makes a sound in his throat, but Steve says, "I'd rather not live solely on canned goods and frozen food. We need something fresh."

It doesn't occur to her that she hasn't thought about how they'd pay until Bucky pulls out a wad of bills at the register and pays in hundreds and fifties.

"Where'd you get the money?" she asks as they load the car.

"I hit every safehouse in the greater DC area before I came for you."

"Good thinking."

Something that almost looks like a smile passes over Bucky's face.

They make it back to the safe house. This time, Steve takes a real shower, brushes her teeth, and comes out feeling refreshed. Still naked and wrapped only in a towel, she's taken aback to see Bucky in the bedroom, crouching in the same corner as that morning, cleaning his gun.

"Don't suppose I can have some privacy," she says, holding the towel tightly around her.

Bucky frowns, then turns and faces the wall.

Good enough. Steve changes into her clothes quickly and then runs her fingers through her hair. She'd forgotten to get a comb.

"Okay," she says. When Bucky turns back, she smiles at him. "Why don't you go now? There's not a lot of hot water, but I left you some."

He frowns. "I don't… shower."

"Ever?"

His frown deepens, eyes going distant. "Before they put me back, they'd hose me down." He smiles, a look that seems more like despair. "No privacy. I think… I think near the beginning, I tried to kill myself. No more showers."

"Jesus, Buck." She finds it hard to breathe. "But you're free now. Go take a shower."

He glances at the bathroom. "Not sure if I remember how." But he gives her a look after he says it, eyes glinting with something that looks like humor.

"Can you get that wet?" she asks, nodding at the arm. "Or did they…" She can't bring herself to ask if it needed to be removed.

"I can get it wet." He still hesitates. "I can't protect you if I'm in there."

"Protect me from what? There's no one here. I'm fine, I'm safe, and, what's more, I can take care of myself."

"If you could, no one would know about you."

She laughs at that. "Maybe you're right. But I'll be fine. Go shower. And brush your teeth. Yours is the blue toothbrush."

Bucky studies her for another long moment before he finally disappears into the bathroom.

Steve goes downstairs where she'd left the sleeping bags and brings them back up. She unrolls hers, listening to the shower running in the other room, and then wads the blanket from the night before at the head of it like a pillow. She sets up a bag for Bucky, too; she has no idea if he's slept since he's come for her. Hydra had only let him eat protein bars, hadn't let him shower, had they let him sleep? Not that it matters; Bucky is going to sleep. Whether he likes it or not.

Steve goes back downstairs to the kitchen and whips them up a lunch of pasta and vegetables. She's just finishing it up when Bucky comes into the kitchen.

His hair hangs damply around his face, and his eyes look incredibly blue, picking up color from his shirt. Steve's heart stutters a moment, because there's a part of her that's forgotten how damn handsome Bucky was. Is.

She lets out a shuddering breath. "I can't believe you're alive," she says. She puts down the spoon she's holding and crosses the room to him. Looks at him for a long moment, aching to reach out and touch him. "I thought you were dead."

Bucky frowns. "I was in the shower."

She laughs. "Not now. Before. You fell, and I thought you were dead." She shakes her head, feeling tears pressing behind her eyes. "Do you remember what happened? Do you remember anything?"

He thinks about it for a long moment. His eyes go distant and he stares into space. "I remember… snow. Cold."

Steve nods. "It was snowing. We were going after Dr. Zola, one… Bucky?"

Bucky's stiffened, a look of panic crossing his face. His breathing kicks up.

"Hey, it's okay," Steve says soothingly. She reaches out for him slowly, watching him, before putting her hands on his shoulders. "It's okay. Dr. Zola is gone."

He shakes his head. "He's… they did something. He would talk to people. Just a voice. But he was there. He was there."

"I know. He died, but they kept his brain preserved in a computer. But that computer got blown up. He's gone."

Bucky closes his eyes. He folds in on himself and sinks to the floor.

Steve goes with him, crouching in front of him. She reaches up and strokes his hair back from his face. "Just breathe, Bucky. It's okay. In and out. In and out."

"He was there. He did things to me. Injected me. Put me in the chair. Asked me questions. They… the chair hurts. And then he'd praise me. I wouldn't do anything, and he'd praise me, and I kept losing … losing something. I don't know. I don't remember." He looks up at Steve, his eyes wild and frantic. "Don't let him take me again."

"No, I won't," she says. "No one is taking you again. You're free, Bucky. You're safe."

He stands. "It's not safe here, we need to leave."

"But you said…"

"I shouldn't have brought you here. They know." Bucky stops. Frowns. "Zola… Zola said something about you. About me. About it being a shame that you died. And then Pierce… Something… about technology… advancements… something about offspring. Raising super soldiers."

She goes cold. Colder than when the Red Skull had said the same thing, because then she'd been too overwhelmed by everything to really think about the implications. But this… technology and advancements…

She knows there are ways for people to have babies that involve labs and tubes and petri dishes. You can freeze your eggs and sperm. Harvest both.

She'd been unconscious for _days_ after they'd found her. SHIELD had been compromised, and who knows what doctors had treated her.

Who knows what they'd done to her?

"Maybe we should go," she finds herself saying, her arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen. "You're right. It might not be safe here." She knows she's being irrational. No one is coming after them, not right now. If anything had been done to her, it'd already been done. It was too late.

But she doesn't feel safe anymore. She feels… violated. And she wants to leave. To move on. To go somewhere, anywhere, else. Anywhere but here.

They pack everything up quickly, including the food. Load the SUV and take off. Steve is silent as they drive, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to think.

What if they'd done it? What if they'd harvested her eggs? Taken Bucky's sperm? What if they were sitting in a lab somewhere, waiting to be combined?

What if they already have?


	3. Chapter 3

They stop near midnight, and Bucky steals another car. They drive a few more hours before stopping for gas and food. There's a tiny security camera above the door, and Steve glances at it as she walks inside. She has no idea if Natasha or Fury are even able to access these things, but they're all she has. She didn't bring her cell phone, and she doubts Bucky would let her near a pay phone. Bucky is paying for everything in cash, so no trail there.

It's not like she wants them to find her. She just wants them to know she's okay.

They drive fifteen more hours before Bucky pulls off the road to a little motel. It's rundown and the outside is dirty, but the room is reasonably clean. It doesn't smell, at any rate, and there are no visible stains anywhere.

"You going to sleep?" Steve asks after she's stripped to her boxers and undershirt and brushed her teeth.

Bucky is sitting on the bed, cross legged, checking his gun. "I shouldn't," he says.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

"Too long."

"Then sleep," Steve says. "I'll be fine. No one's coming for me tonight."

Bucky looks at her a long time. "You were always reckless," he finally says. "You take too many risks."

"Who, me? Nah."

His brow furrows. "The museum says you went on a one-man rescue mission to save the men at Azzano. An unauthorized mission."

"Well. It was partly right. I didn't go to rescue the men. I went to rescue you."

Bucky sets the gun on the nightstand. He rubs his chin. "Why would you do that?"

"You're my best friend. I'd do anything for you."

He shakes his head. "I am not your best friend. I'm not the man you knew."

Steve goes to Bucky's bed and sits down. Facing him, she leans in and puts her hand on his knee. "If you're not my best friend, then why are you here, trying to protect me?"

"You're my mission."

"Your mission was to kill me."

He shakes his head, but he seems uncertain. "No. I have to protect you."

"Why?"

"Because you're too dumb…." He breaks off. His eyes widened a moment, then narrow again. "You're too dumb to protect yourself."

"And who gave you that mission and set of parameters?"

He thinks about it for a long moment. Then, looking confused, he says, "But you're my mission."

"No. I'm your friend. And deep down, you remember that. That's why you're here." She leans forward. "But, eventually, you're going to realize that I don't need to be protected. No one is coming after me for being a girl. I'm safe."

"You? Never."

She gives Bucky a lopsided smile. "Okay, so I have enemies. And I am, like you say, reckless. But you don't have to protect me. I can protect myself."

Bucky gives her an extremely dubious look that makes Steve laugh. She climbs off his bed and onto her own. "Night, Buck," she says, switching off the light.

A long silence. Then, "Good night."

* * *

She wakes up, hours later, to the sound of Bucky panting. He's breathing heavily, making soft, pained whimpers that are almost too soft to hear.

She sits up and climbs out of bed.

Bucky is writhing, sweat rolling down his face in beads. His face is twisted in anguish. He shifts from side to side, and his mouth is working, saying, "No," and "don't," over and over.

Heart pounding, she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder. "Bucky? Buck!"

He comes awake instantly. His elbow flies up and catches her in the throat. Steve stumbles back, hands raised defensively. Bucky grabs her, both her arms in his and sweeps her feet out from under her. She falls back to the mattress, Bucky on top of her.

She has no idea where he got the knife, but there's suddenly one at her throat. His eyes are wild as they look down at her, panicked.

"Bucky, it's me. It's Steve." Her arms are trapped against her body, and she's sure she could throw him off, but she's afraid that will set him off even more. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He says something in Russian that she can't understand. But then, his blinks and shakes his head. Looks at her, eyes focusing. "Steve," he repeats, but like it's a foreign word and he's unsure of the meaning.

"Right. It's me. Steve."

"Steve." He licks his lips. "Stevie."

She smiles tentatively. "Yeah. You used to call me that."

He looks down at her, hair hanging in his face. His eyes are less panicked, less wild. "You'd sit on the fire escape. On the railing. In your shorts and undershirt, even when it was cold. And you'd sit out there and draw."

"Yeah. Yeah, I would."

"I'd yell at you. For getting sick."

She grins. "All the time."

"You never took care of yourself."

She shakes her head. "Not like I should have, I guess."

Bucky's eyes focus on her. Lock onto her eyes, and he lays on top of her, staring at her. Studying her intently. And she's suddenly aware that their bodies are pushed together, legs tangled in each other's. The knife is still at her throat, but it's slack. Less pressure.

She can feel his hips pressed against her. His ankles hooked around hers. The feel of his breath against her skin.

Steve feels a flush beginning to build. She feels hot, and she can't breathe. Her eyes flick to Bucky's mouth, and she remembers the all too brief feel of them against hers so long ago.

She can't look away, can't move.

"No one sent me to protect you," Bucky says.

She shakes her head.

"But you're my mission."

"I'm your friend. Your best friend. You've looked out for me since we were fifteen years old."

"Before the serum."

"And after." She smiles a little. "When I first got the serum, first became a leader, I didn't always know what to do. So, I tried to do everything. I messed up and got in your way. You almost shot me."

"You got in my scope," Bucky says. "I had the perfect shot, and suddenly you were there, and I almost shot you."

She nods. "Yeah. You helped me learn how to be a leader. You told me to rely on my team." She licks her lips. "Bucky, I have a team now. They're going to be wondering where I am."

The knife presses harder against her throat. Then Bucky seems to realize what he's doing. He drops the knife and pulls away from her, standing up.

Steve sits up. "At least let me call Sam. Let me let him know I'm okay. That he doesn't need to look for me. Please."

Bucky studies her for another long moment. Then he nods. "Just one call. That's it."

"Thank you." Watching Bucky, making sure he doesn't change his mind, she scoots up the bed to the phone. It takes her a moment to recall Sam's number; she's seen it plenty, but usually just lets her cell phone auto-dial. It comes to her, though, and she punches in the number.

"Hello?" Sam says on the other line. He sounds grumpy. Sleepy. Like he's just woken up. Well. It is the middle of the night.

"Hey, Sam. It's me. Steve."

"Steve." He's suddenly a lot more alert. "Where you are, man? Tell me you're all right and where you are."

"I'm fine. I'm safe."

"Safe where? With who? Because security cameras picked up what might have been the Winter Soldier entering your apartment the night you disappeared, but we can't be sure it was really him. We're assuming it is."

"I'm with Bucky."

"The Winter Soldier."

"He's not… He's remembering things. He's here to protect me."

"Protect you? Oh, that's rich considering what he did to you last time the two of you went up against each other. What's he protecting you from?"

She looks at Bucky, who's got his knife in his hand again and is frowning down at it.

"He's… concerned about how many people know about me. About my…" She almost says secret, but it's not a secret. Not anymore. "About my gender. Or my sex. Whatever."

There's a long moment of silence. "What?"

"He used to protect me. He spent a lot of energy making sure people didn't find out. I think a part of him remembers that."

"So, he kidnapped you."

"I went with him. There wasn't any time to leave a note."

"Okay. So. Where are you going? What's the plan?"

She exhales. "I don't know. We were at a safe house, but…" She trails off.

"But what? Hydra found you?"

"No. We just felt… compromised."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing. I'll you when I get back."

Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat.

Steve rolls her eyes at him. "Look, I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay. I'm safe."

"This isn't the last time you're going to call me, Steve. You will call me regularly and let me know that you are all right. Maybe not where you are, but that you're safe and he hasn't done anything to hurt you."

"Yeah. I'll call when I can. He's a little… skittish. Uncertain. But…

"Your judgement is questionable," Bucky says.

"My judgement? You want to eat tasteless protein bars." She smiles at him and then says, "I need to go, Sam. I'll call you soon."

"Steve…"

"Sam. I'm fine, really. I'll talk to you later." She hangs up. "There. I didn't tell him where we were. But now, maybe, he and the others won't be looking for us."

"You told him. About yourself."

She sighs and rubs her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. Because I knew he was someone I could trust."

Bucky sits on the bed across from her. He twirls the knife in his hand slowly. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don't…" But that's not true, so she stops. Instead, she says, "He works at the VA. Runs a group for soldiers with PTSD." At Bucky's frown, she says, "Battle fatigue? Shell shock? It's for soldiers who are having hard time returning to civilian life after being at war. I caught the end of one of the groups. I just… There's just something about him. Something calm and soothing and safe. So, after the group, I just sort of told him." Not right then. Not at the VA. They'd gone out for a beer after, Sam picking at Steve's brain, trying to find a better answer to what made her happy than, 'I don't know.'

"I'm not saying it's not an answer," he'd said after they'd gotten their beers. They were at a booth at the back of a local bar, relatively isolated. It was early still, so the bar wasn't that crowded. "But, you know. It is a warning sign. For depression."

"Well." Steve hadn't known what to say. She'd rolled the bottle of beer against her hand and stared at it intently.

"What did you do before?"

"Before the war?"

Sam had nodded.

"Well. I liked to draw. I was an artist. Went art school, working drawing ads and political cartoons. But I drew in my spare time, too. For fun. Because I loved it," she'd added wistfully.

"You draw anymore?"

She'd shaken her head. "It's all dried up."

"You tried wetting your whistle again? Taking classes? Going to groups?"

"I've been busy."

Sam had shaken his head. "You need to make time for things that you love, even if you don't feel inspired anymore. What do you do on your time off?"

"I read. I watch TV, surf the internet. Run, work out. But nothing…" She'd sighed. "I stop trying to draw because I kept having panic attacks when I did. Because I'd think of everything I'd lost. Peggy. Bucky. My whole life. And I just…" She'd licked her lips. "Can I tell you something that has nothing to do with anything?"

"Of course, man. Tell me whatever."

She'd looked up at him, then down at her beer bottle, then back up. "I'm not a man."

His eyebrows had risen, but Sam had stayed silent.

"I was born a girl. And, for a bunch of reasons, my mom let me dress like a boy. Let me pretend to be a boy. And then, I just stopped pretending."

Sam had nodded slowly. "So, you are a man."

"No. I'm neither. I'm just me. I like the term genderqueer, but nonbinary works, too." She'd swallowed and then laughed. "And, honestly? You're the first person I've ever told willingly. I usually just let people figure it out or just… hide it."

"Okay, you're not hiding because no one is entitled to know anything about you that you're not ready to share. You're not pretending to be anything. You just are." Sam smiled and met Steve's eyes. "And thanks for telling me. I'm honored." He'd tapped his fingers on the table. "There are groups around here for LGBT veterans."

"Could I go to one without it becoming an issue? A Captain America issue?"

Sam had let out a long breath. "Probably not. But what's more important: Captain America being genderqueer, or you being stuck because you're not getting the support you need?"

She'd shrugged. "Maybe… maybe I should start with just a support group. Like the one today."

"Do you go to therapy?"

"Not anymore."

Sam had nodded. "Then, yeah. A support group is probably a good idea."

And that had been that. They hadn't talked about it anymore. Their conversation had moved to other things, like baseball and running and battle talk. They'd swapped stories, finished their beers, then parted ways.

"He understood," Steve says finally. "He's a good guy. Hey, he stood up to Hydra just because I asked him to. He's retired. Left the service. But the moment his country needed him, he stepped back up. The moment I met him, I knew I could trust him."

Bucky thinks about it a long moment, then nods. "Then you can call him again. Not tomorrow. We need to be away from here. So it's not easy to track. But you can call and update him on your safety, so he doesn't send anyone after."

She smiles. "Thanks, Bucky. Now put your knife away and go back to sleep."

"I don't need…"

"Yeah, you do. Because it's still the middle of the night, and I'm tired. I sleep, you sleep. That's the rule."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but the knife disappears, and he crawls under the covers once again. "Were you always this bossy?"

"Being given command has made me worse, but yes." She switches off the light. "Night."

* * *

Despite Steve's insistence, Bucky doesn't sleep. He dozes a couple times, but he's not tired and he can't shut his mind off.

His mission is to protect Steve. No one has given him this mission. He gave himself the mission. Why?

The museum said that he and Steve had been friends. The Winter Soldier doesn't have friends. Bucky does. Is he Bucky? The pictures at the museum had showed his face. Steve calls him Bucky, and he responds to it. He even remembers the first time he'd heard it. On the bridge. During the fight. His mask had come off and Steve had said, "Bucky?"

It had resonated. Rung through him, like a bell. He'd wanted to respond, but he'd been confused. He was not a Bucky. He was an asset. A Winter Soldier.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

He likes the name. Likes the way it sounds when Steve says is. Bucky. Bucky. Buck. It makes him feel warm and happy. Settled in his body in a way he doesn't remember feeling. Before, he wasn't a person. He was a thing. Things didn't have names. Now he has a name. Now he is a person.

Again?

Memories would seem to indicate he was a person. He remembers… sporadically. Like Steve on the fire escape. Marching away from Azzano. The helicarrier and trying to fight Steve while she hadn't fought back. Steve in the shower, wet shorts clinging to her hips, hair plastered against her head.

Every memory is a drug. He wants more.


	4. Chapter 4

They go to a diner the next morning. Steve opens the menu, and, after a moment of contemplation, Bucky does also. He immediately closes it.

"Something wrong?" Steve asks, closing hers as well.

"There's too much." He shakes his head and waves his hand over the menu. "I don't even know… and there's all that to choose from. It's too much."

"It's okay. I'll order for you," Steve says, even though she's screaming inside. Hydra has taken so much from Bucky, and now they've taken his ability to choose his own meal. Well. It's not like she doesn't understand. Menus can be a little overwhelming. She never knew there were so many ways to make pancakes until she'd gone to her first I-Hop. And don't get her started on burgers. Still, she'd never been frozen with indecision; she'd just started working her way through the menu, seeing what she'd liked best.

Bucky still barely eats. No wonder this is so overwhelming.

When the waitress comes, Steve orders eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee for them. When it comes a few minutes later, she digs in with enthusiasm. She is hungry, and the food smells great.

Bucky is less sure. He pokes dubiously at the eggs for a moment before trying some. His nose wrinkles.

Steve can't help but laugh at the expression on his face. "Don't like it?"

"It's…." Bucky searches around for the correct word. "Salty."

"Still too flavorful?"

He shrugs and drinks some water. "I'm getting used to it. Did everything used to be so… much?"

"Well, no. Food's a lot better now. There's more of it, more variety. It'll get better."

He tries some bacon next. His face gets an intense look of concentration.

"Well?"

"I don't know." He lets out a frustrated breath. "It feels like… like it's going to take over me. At any moment. And I'll disappear."

Steve leans forward and puts her hand on Bucky's. "It'll get better. You're not going to disappear. You're going to come back."

Bucky won't meet her eyes. "What if I don't? What if I'm never the man you remember?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think you ever will be. Not exactly. Not after what you've been through. But the core of you, what's most important? It's in there. You're already showing it."

"By kidnapping you."

She laughs. "You can't kidnap someone who'll follow you to the ends of the earth."

Bucky shakes his head. Then he pulls his hand away and goes back to eating. He eats slowly, tasting every bite, like he's savoring it. By the time he's finished, he's stopped making faces every time he puts something new in his mouth. He even spreads some jelly on his toast. His eyes light up a little at the taste of that.

"So, where are we heading now?" Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. "The main objective was to get you away from where you were. I thought the safe house would be a good place to take you. After that, I'm less certain."

"You don't have a plan?"

"Keep you safe. Everything else is just details."

Steve shakes her head. "You know, you really don't need to worry about me. Despite what you remember, I can take care of myself. And really, no one's coming after me."

Bucky's eyes flick to a spot above her head. "They've been talking about what they should do about you since we got here. They want to strip you of your shield. Have you arrested for fraud. One suggested sending you to some kind of conversion camp."

She turns to see what Bucky is talking about.

There's a TV above the cash register. It's turned to a conservative news station. A bunch of old men—and one blonde woman—are furiously debating. There's a picture of Steve in her uniform, only they've Photoshopped a dress and heels on her and added a garish shade of lipstick. It's obscene and insulting, mostly because it's so juvenile.

She turns back. "It's just talk. They can't do anything."

"They can get others riled up, and they can do something to you. There are people who want to hurt people like you. You can't tell me there aren't."

"It's gotten better."

"But there are still people who want to hurt you."

She lets out a huff of air. "Okay, yes. But I can handle it. Bucky, I'm Captain America. When the Hydra sent ten men to jump me in an elevator, I'm the one who walked away. They tried to blow me up. I walked away. They sent their best fighter to face me and…"

"I don't count."

"You couldn't beat me."

Buck raises an eyebrow.

She smiles. "Bucky."

"Steve."

She cocks her head. "Even the Red Skull couldn't beat me. And I got a better version of the serum than him. You got a knock-off of my serum."

"But I've had more training than you. You were trained in a back alley."

"SHEILD's been training me for the past two year. I've learned some moves." She shakes her head. "Maybe we're evenly matched."

He thinks about it a moment before nodding.

"My point is, we don't have to run. Not from those cowards, hiding behind news desks and spreading hate. And not from bullies that'd try to come after me." She leans forward. "I'm not a coward. I don't run from fights."

"But it's not…"

"Dammit, Bucky!"

Bucky sighs. Lowers his eyes. "Just… I need to move. I don't feel safe."

And that is understandable. After everything Bucky has been through, she's not surprised he doesn't feel safe. That his instinct is to run. If he hadn't been worried about her, he probably would be long gone. A ghost, impossible to find. It'd just been his sense of duty to her that had brought him back.

"Okay, then," she says. She lifts her coffee and drains it. "Where do you want to go? Because we can't just keep driving around aimlessly. It's a little boring."

"But safe."

"Hydra's not going to get us if we stop and sightsee along the way. Where are we?"

"Evansville, Indiana."

Steve nods. "Um… well, there's got to be something to do around here. Um, miss?" she says, stopping their waitress. "We're passing through town, looking to do some sightseeing. Any recommendations?"

She thinks about it a moment, then says, "You boys might be interested in the Dream Car museum. It's over on Helidlebach Ave."

Steve glances at Bucky, whose eyes have lit up.

She grins. "Thanks."

The waitress nods. "There's some maps and pamphlets up at the front with other things to do around here, too. Have fun, boys."

They do. Bucky doesn't say much as they make their way through the museum, but he studies all the cars closely, from every angle that he can. Steve, who's always been less interested in cars than Bucky, mostly watches him. She loves the way he's so intent, reading the information on each car, examining them from every perspective. She's sure that, if he could, Bucky would be crawling underneath them all and taking apart the engines.

They spend a few hours inside, eat lunch, and then hit the road again.

"Where are we going now?" Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. "Want to go to Chicago?"

She grins. "Sure."

They spend the rest of the day driving. Steve puts on the radio and they listen to music. It takes a while to find something they like. Steve doesn't hate modern music, but she still prefers the music she grew up on. They finally come across a station playing something called "oldies" that they both enjoy.

"Do we have enough money to buy a car?" she asks as they pass a used car dealership.

Bucky glances at her. "It's too easy to track."

"So's a stolen car. And no one is after us. And we can use cash. If we have enough."

Bucky thinks about it a moment before pulling off the road and heading back to the dealership. A few hours later, they're in possession of a rusted old sedan. They wipe the stolen car down for prints, transfer the supplies, and Steve calls in a tip to the police on where to find the car. Soon, they're on the road again.

They make it to the city a little after sundown. After stopping to eat, they find a motel and check in.

"How are we doing on money, anyway?" Steve asks as they settle in the room. "Because I have my ATM card, if we need anything."

Bucky shakes his head. "Too easy to track. And we're fine."

"You sure? Because the car…"

"We're fine, Steve." He sits on the bed and rubs his hand over his cheek.

She frowns. He's been doing that all day, now that she thinks about it. "You okay? You keep rubbing your face."

He shrugs. "Not used to this. It feels weird," he said, indicating the growth on his face.

She smiles. "You could shave."

His face goes blank. "Haven't… if I was out too long, before they'd put me back into the cryofreeze, they used to shave my face. I didn't like it."

She sits on the bed across from him. "You don't have to shave if you don't want to. It looks fine. You'll get used to it." _I'll get used to it_ , she adds mentally. Because Bucky had always been so fastidious about keeping his face clean shaven back in the day. Even when they were in the field, he'd shave every single morning over a cup of water.

He rubs his face again. "I'll keep it for right now. Less recognizable."

She laughs. "I'm not sure how many people are looking for you anyway. Too much chaos surrounding Hydra. I think you've been written off."

"Maybe. Can't be sure." He breathes in deeply. "I don't want to go back."

Steve reaches out and puts her hand on his knee. "You won't. I promise. I'll do whatever needs to be done to make sure they don't get you again."

He shakes his head. "No, you won't."

"Bucky…"

"You won't kill me."

All the air leaves her in a huff, like she's been punched. "It won't come to that."

"It could."

"Bucky…"

"If they ever come for me, capture me, try to take me back, I'd rather have a bullet in the brain." He shakes his head. "I'm not going back. I'm not going to be their tool again."

"You won't be."

"But you also won't be the one pulling the trigger."

"I just don't think it's the only option. You got out once…"

"Twice, actually." A faint smile crosses Bucky's face. "In 1973, after a mission, I sort of… just didn't go to the extraction point. I killed the target and then just wandered off. First to Chicago, then New York."

"What happened?"

Bucky shrugs. "Something… I don't know. Confused me, I guess. And instead of following orders, I went home. Wandered around until they found me sleeping in a flop house." He shrugs again. "I didn't really do anything in the weeks I was free. Wandered around the city. I think I went home. To Brooklyn, I mean. People would hire me to do odd jobs, like move boxes, load trucks, things like that." He shakes his head. "But then Hydra found me. Wiped my mind, put me on ice, and I only just remembered."

"So, it's not impossible to escape. And now that I know about you, I won't rest if you disappear again."

"I'd still rather be dead. Rather than be their puppet." He looks apologetic. "I'm not saying this to upset you."

"I know. But it's still hard to hear." Steve stands. "I think I need a walk."

Bucky stands too and follows her to the door. She'd meant she'd needed to be alone, but she knows Bucky would never allow that. Still, he seems to understand how deeply he's upset her, because he walks a step behind and doesn't say anything.

They walk aimlessly. No destination. Steve barely takes in her surroundings. Her mind is too busy replaying what Bucky said. About wanting her to kill him if he's ever retaken. Of doing the impossible. Of knowing she wouldn't.

She wouldn't. She couldn't, could never. Because she doesn't believe it's the only option. If Bucky gets taken again, she'll take him back. It's that simple. She'll never rest until she gets him back.

And, in the meantime, what will they do to him? What torture will he endure while she dithers around looking?

Oh, God, how can she let him go through that again?

How can she kill him?

Bucky takes her arm. "Let's get a drink."

"Alcohol…"

"You're hyperventilating. It'll give you something to do."

He's right. She's gasping for breath, almost doubled over, hands on her knees. She doesn't even remember stopping.

Bucky takes her by the arm and pulls her into the first bar they find. It's crowded, but they find a table in a corner. Bucky goes to the bar and comes back with two beers.

Steve gulps half her down in one shot. Her heart is pounding, and her face feels clammy with sweat. It's loud in here, a heavy beat is throbbing in her head.

Like a bullet would throb in Bucky's head.

"Stop," Bucky says.

"I can't."

"You're probably right. It probably won't happen. So, don't worry about it."

She pants a few breaths, then says, "I don't want to kill you. But I don't want you to have to go through what you did ever again."

Bucky meets her eyes. "So, I don't get caught."

"It's not that simple."

"Pretend it is."

"I'm not that good at pretending."

Bucky shoots her a look. "So, what have you been doing since you woke up?"

"Surviving.

"By pretending you're all right." He leans closer to Steve. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, it's okay. I just." She runs her thumb under her eyes, catching wetness that's leaking. "I never really thought what it would be like for you. Going back. I've been too busy worrying about where you were. And then you show up and I just… I don't know. Never thought about what could happen." She takes another drink of her beer. "You know, the best way to ensure Hydra doesn't get you is to finish taking them down. You could join the Avengers…"

"No."

"But…"

Bucky shakes his head. "I don't want…" He frowns. "I don't want to fight. Or be around Hydra. They have ways of controlling me. Other than the chair. It's too risky."

"Ways like what?"

"Code words. Trigger words. They'd take me out, put me in the chair, say the words, and I'd be… like a robot. Ready to be programmed." His hand tightens on his beer. "Sometimes, in a crisis, they didn't use the chair. I can't risk…"

"No. No, I get it." She'd read something about that in the file Natasha had given her. The words hadn't been there, but the allusion to the brainwashing and reprogramming was. "So. What do you want to do? When you start feeling safe, I mean. And we're not on the run anymore."

Bucky looks at her, his eyes suddenly hot. She flushes under his gaze, but then he blinks, and the look is gone, almost like she'd imagined it.

"Don't know yet." He gives her a half smile. "Still trying to figure out who I am right now."

She holds out her beer and clinks it against his. "I hear you on that."

They finish their beers and leave, walking back to the motel and heading off to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

They continue their road trip the next day, spending the day sightseeing in Chicago. They hit an art museum and spend hours there, contemplating the art. Although Steve's art tends to be traditional and realistic, she's always found herself drawn to modern art. She and Bucky wander the modern art wing. There are a few paintings that Steve finds herself entranced by, and she stands in front of them, studying them, until Bucky nudges her.

"Sorry," she says the third time it happens.

"This isn't what you draw," he says, uncertainly looking at the Kandinsky Steve had been studying.

She shakes her head. "I'm not that good. I just… I draw what I see. Or what I want to see. This is…" She waves her hand in front of the painting. "This is talent. Brilliance."

"Ever tried?"

"Some. At school, we concentrated on traditional technique. And I've always sketched more than painted. I've painted, but nothing like this. I just can't… can't quite figure out how to do it. I paint like I draw, which is realistic scenes in my life."

Bucky is silent a moment, looking at the painting. Then he says, "You can try."

"I could. I should." She licks her lips. "I don't really draw much anymore."

Bucky looks at her, then says, "You should. I remember you. Sketching. Having charcoal on your fingers. On your face. It was important."

"It was just a hobby." She pulled away from the painting and started walking. "Let's go."

She thought the conversation was done and forgotten, but she should have known better. Before they leave, Bucky ducks into the gift shop. Bemused, Steve follows, wondering what he could possible want. He's not quite himself, still, and really doesn't seem like the souvenir type.

"Oh, Bucky, come on," she says when she sees what he's buying.

"You need a sketchbook," Bucky says. "Trust me, we can afford it."

She rolls her eyes and follows him to the cash register. "It's not the price. I just… Bucky, no," she protests when he adds a set of pencils to the purchase.

Bucky ignores her and makes his purchase. As they leave the museum, he hands the bag to Steve. "You don't have to do anything with it. But it's good to have just in case."

She sighs and smiles wryly. "Thanks, Buck."

The get lunch at a hot dog stand. Bucky eats his plain, but he eats about ten, so it's an improvement. They walk around the streets, looking at the buildings and parks until the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Then, they get into the car and take off.

They drive until about midnight before they find a motel.

"I'm so sorry, sirs, but we're all out of double rooms. All we have is a room with a queen bed left."

Steve and Bucky exchange looks. They could drive until they found another motel. But they are already here.

"I can take the floor," Bucky says.

"I can take the floor."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "We'll take the room." He pays for the room, the get the key. They move the car to the front of their room and go inside.

They both grab their sleeping bags. Steve places hers on the bed and glares at Bucky.

"There's no reason I can't take the floor. It's fine. I'm used to roughing it."

"So am I," Bucky says. "Just take the bed."

"I'm not a skinny runt anymore who can't hack a night of discomfort. Take the bed."

"No."

"Well, I'm not either." Then she realizes what's going to happen. They're both going to wind up sleeping on the floor and the bed will go unused because they're both too stubborn to give in. She laughs and shakes her head.

"What?" Bucky says warily.

"We're both being stupid. There's no reason we can't just share the bed. We used to. Back home. We can now."

"I can…"

"Either we share the bed, or we're both sleep on the floor like idiots. Do you really want to be an idiot, Bucky?"

Bucky holds her gaze for a long moment before dropping his eyes. "Fine. We can share the bed."

She smiles. "Okay. Good. Got that out of the way." She picks up her duffel. "I'm just going to shower, then."

Bucky nods. As Steve is leaving, he tosses his sleeping bag on the floor and opens his duffel.

She showers and brushes her teeth. When she goes back into the room, Bucky's sitting on the bed in his boxers and undershirt. He's got the TV on, which is a surprise because at the last motel, he'd sat in the room doing nothing while Steve had cleaned up. At least now he's showing more interest in the world.

She climbs into bed and pulls the covers to her waist. She's not exactly tired, more… she doesn't know the word. Brain dead. From driving so long. From walking around the city. From seeing all the beautiful works of art at the museum. It's been a long day. Not like when she was working for SHIELD and out in the field for hours or days at a time, but long, nonetheless. She's not exhausted, just kind of numb.

"I know him," Bucky says. He nods at the screen.

"Humphrey Bogart? He's an actor. We saw him in a few things back before the war. _The Maltese Falcon_. You loved that movie. Saw it about ten times."

Bucky rubs his cheek. "I don't remember this one."

"No, it came later. In the fifties. I highly doubt Hydra kept you up-to-date on movies."

Bucky shoots her a wry look.

She smiles back and settles against the lumpy pillows at her back. Together, they watch Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn pilot a boat down a river. It's a good movie, one that Steve has seen before, but she finds her mind wandering.

Without really thinking about it, she climbs out of bed and goes to her duffel. The bag from the art museum is on top. She takes out the sketchbook and pencils and goes back to bed.

She can feel Bucky watching her from the corner of his eye. Feeling self-conscious, she puts the sketchbook on the nightstand and opens the pencils. They're just a set of graphite pencils in black, grey, gold, and silver. She usually just draws with pencils or charcoals, no real color, but she likes the gold and silver ones. She fingers the sharp tip gently, feeling the point. It leaves a streak on her finger.

She sets the pencil down and returns to watching the movie. And then, ten minutes later, she picks up the sketchbook and pencil and starts drawing.

The first thing she draws is horrible. She scratches it out and turns the page. The second drawing is shaky, but recognizable. She draws Bucky at the museum, studying a painting. She draws it from the painting's point of view, showing the concentration on Bucky's face, the wonder in his eyes as he discovers things in the painting as he looks. She spends a lot of time on his eyes, getting the shading exactly like, the tone of them, the way they almost smile. His beard looks off to her eyes, and she can't get his hair right. As she shades in the strands and tangles, she's reminded again that she needs to get a comb for the two of them. With regular showers and new clothes, Bucky looks more charmingly disheveled than like he's sleeping on the streets, but he'd look better with combed hair.

She makes a mental note to get one tomorrow.

The movie comes to an end. Steve yawns and rubs her eyes. When she looks up, Bucky is glowing at her.

"That's how you're supposed to look," he says.

"What?"

He reaches out and touches the bridge of her nose. "Smudges."

She blushes and rubs the smudge away. "All right, I'm beat. I'm going to sleep." She closes the sketchbook, sets it aside, and turns out the light. "Thanks, Bucky."

He smiles at her and nods, clearly pleased.

That expression follows Steve into her dreams.

* * *

She did not rub the smudge off her face. It's still there, between her eyes. And on her cheek. He likes it. Likes that she is drawing. It feels right.

He lays on his side, watching her. Thinking. Not thinking. This is familiar. Only, the bed is too big. She's too big. She used to be smaller and the bed was smaller. They'd practically been sardines, pressed together. Her pointy elbows in his stomach and her knobby knees leaving bruises on his legs.

And then, later. She'd been big. They'd been in a tent, in sleeping bags. Still pressed together, but it had been different. Strange.

She's sleeping, eyes closed, face slack. He wants to reach out and touch her. Trace her face. Feel her skin.

This is wrong. His mission is to protect her. To make sure she's safe. Not to touch. Not to feel.

But there's this feeling in his stomach when he looks at her. This… something. Ache. It's old. Familiar. He doesn't know what it is, but it's been there before.

He wants… something. God, his head is so messed up. He's remembering more and more, feeling less… less like a robot and more like a person. He knows things about himself. Like, he likes the taste of coffee. And he enjoys what the radio calls "oldies". And he likes the way Steve gets a little wrinkle between her eyes when she's studying a painting, and the way her face lights up when she reaches an epiphany about it.

He wants to know more. More about himself. More about Steve.

His eyelids are growing heavier.

Without thinking about it, he reaches out. Places his hand next to Steve, right next to her hand. Their fingers press against each other's.

Her skin is warm. Familiar.

Bucky drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Steve wakes up slowly. She feels warm and content. Sleepy in a happy way. The kind of sleepy where you know you should to get up but are free to lie there for just a little bit more and just doze.

She becomes aware of Bucky breathing next to her. When she turns and opens her eyes, she sees Bucky is very close. He's on his back, head tilted back, mouth gaping open. Every breath, he huffs out his mouth, but he snores in through his nose. Not loudly, but it's a steady, almost comforting noise.

She smiles. Then she becomes aware of how warm and sweaty her hand is. She lifts her head and looks down.

She and Bucky are holding hands. Their fingers are interlaced, and palms are pressed together.

She blushes. She must have reached for him in the middle of the night. Damn. What should she do? Should she pull her hand away? What if that wakes him up? But what if he wakes up and finds that they're holding hands? Will he care? Will he be upset? Or will he just take it in stride? Maybe he'll assume they used to hold hands all the time, which was definitely not the case. She remembers them holding hands when they came out of the factory at Azzano, and Bucky grabbing her by the hand a few times to pull her places, but they never, well, held hands. That was something you did with your girl. Or fella.

Her flush grows hotter.

She doesn't want to let go. She wants to hold his hand. Forever. Not just because he was dead, and now he's back. Not just because she's afraid he'll disappear again. But because she wants him. She's wanted him for a long, long time. Yes, she loves Peggy and would have married Peggy in a heartbeat, but she loves Bucky too. Always has. When he found out what she was, he could have left her. Exposed her. Cut her out of his life. Instead, he'd done whatever he could to keep her safe. To keep them together.

God, she loves him so much that sometimes, she can't breathe thinking about it.

Bucky snorts and jerks, eyes flying open. He sits up, pulling his hand away from hers to rub his eyes.

Well. That solves that problem.

"What…" He turns and looks at her. A funny look comes over his face. "I… slept."

"Yeah. You've been sleeping, right?"

"Yes, but… that was different."

"How?"

"I… I was asleep." He shakes his head, biting his lip. "I was… not aware of my surroundings. I don't… remember falling asleep. Or what happened since last night."

"That's good, Bucky. That means you're relaxing. You got some real rest."

A mixture of annoyance, anger, and fear cross his face. "How can I protect you if I'm unaware?" he demands. He sits up and tugs his fingers through his hair. "I can't relax. I have a mission."

Steve sits up too. "Bucky, come on. You don't really have a mission to protect me. That's just your old instincts kicking in. I don't need protection."

He lowers his hands and glares at her.

She sighs. "It's not that I don't appreciate it. But, dammit, Bucky, I've spent two years without you and I'm fine."

"You spent two years being manipulated by Hydra."

Okay, point. "I'm fine to stay on the road for as long as you need," she says. "But, well…" She breaks off and sighs. "I'm glad you're feeling more relaxed around me and that you got some real sleep last night. I'm normally a light sleeper, too."

"I snuck into your apartment without you noticing."

"Okay, yes, that's true. But you're very highly trained. I think the average Hydra goon would make more noise." She offers a tentative smile. "And we don't know if you'd be hard to wake. Just because you got some real sleep, doesn't mean that, if there was a situation, you'd be out of it." She reaches out and touches his leg lightly. "We weren't attacked. We're fine. Let's move on."

He thinks about it another moment. Then, still clearly unhappy, nods.

"Good." She smiles. "What do you want to do today?"

He closes his eyes. "There's a safe house. About two hundred miles from here. Just outside of Minneapolis. I want to go there."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. That's the last thing she would have thought he'd say. "Any particular reason? You were just saying that you didn't want to go after Hydra. That you didn't want to fight."

He nods. "I know. I don't. But I'm feeling… a couple of times I felt watched yesterday. Like my skin was crawling. The safe house will have intel. Money. Weapons."

She hadn't noticed anyone watching them yesterday. Then again, she hadn't been exactly alert. The art had taken a lot of her attention; the art and Bucky. She needs to remember that, just because he's with him doesn't mean Hydra has disappeared. She and Bucky are both still in danger.

She doesn't exactly want to face Hydra right now, but she gets the logic. If someone is watching them, they need to know. And the safe house might have information they need.

"Okay. Let's do it. Do other agents know about the safe house?"

"Yes. It was a general safe house. I was taken there once after a mission to wait for transport."

"So, there might be goons there."

Bucky nods.

"Will they know the trigger words?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Only certain people ever said the trigger words to me. Whoever was in charge. They read them from a book. I don't think it's general knowledge." He doesn't look convincing.

"Are you sure you really want to do this? We can call the rest of the Avengers…"

"No." A look of determination crosses his face. "I'd rather you…"

"Go in with you as your backup? Great plan." She smiles at his scowl and climbs out of bed. "But first, breakfast."


	6. Chapter 6

Not that Bucky has been exactly talkative during this road trip, but his silence is particularly oppressive as they make their way to the safe house. It's like he totally shuts down. He responds to Steve's chatter with small grunts, he doesn't want to listen to music, he doesn't do anything but drive with a fierce intensity.

"You know," Steve says when they stop to gas up, "we don't have to do this."

"I do."

"I thought you didn't want to get caught again."

Bucky meets her eyes. "I won't. But I need to know who's after me. What I'm up against. I can find out at the safe house. They've got a computer."

"Not another Zola, right?"

"No." Then, more uncertainly, "I don't think so."

They park about a mile from the safe house and walk the rest of the way. It's fairly isolated, down a solitary road, surrounded by trees. The only other building around is a gas station, and that's about five miles away.

As they approach, Bucky grows stealthier and more alert. He gives Steve a few signals, indicating she should fall back, let him take point. Unwilling to get into an argument, she does.

He approaches the front door, gun in hand. Turns the knob.

The door is yanked out of Bucky's hand and Hydra agents explode out. There are at least twenty, maybe more. Steve can't tell exactly how many as she rushes to engage.

They're well trained. They're out for blood. They pull out all the tricks they have: magnetic handcuffs, tasers, automatic weapons, knives, the works.

They never stand a chance.

In the end, it's her and Bucky, standing over a yard strewn with bodies. Most of them are even still alive.

Steve goes around the yard, zip-tying the Hydra goons' wrists and ankles. Bucky's inside, gathering intel.

When she's done, she goes into the house. Bucky is sitting in front a screen, typing away at the computer, frowning.

"What are we going to do with them?" she asks.

"Termination seems to be advised."

"We can't kill all of them." She rubs sweat from her face. "I'd like to call Fury. He might have a few resources."

Bucky frowns, but he nods after a minute. A huge concession, Steve knows. Damn if she's not going to take advantage.

She finds a phone on one of the Hydra agents. Nick had made her memorize his number before he left, so it's a lot easier to recall than Sam's had been.

He answers on the third ring. "Who is this?"

"Nick, it's me. Steve."

"Rogers? What the hell is going on? I hear that you've been kidnapped by the Winter Soldier."

"Not kidnapped. I'm fine. But he and I just stumbled on a Hydra nest outside of Minneapolis."

"How'd you manage that?"

She shrugs. "Bucky wanted to come to the safe house. It was occupied. We took care of it. Only now we have yard full of Hydra goons and no idea what to do with them."

"Christ." Nick sighs. "All right. I'll call Coulson. Maybe him and his team can do something with them."

At first, she almost just nods and moves on. Then, she thinks, "No, that has to be a mistake." And then, she says, "You want to run that by me again?"

"Oh, yeah. Coulson is alive, he's running his own team, and he's not Hydra."

"Dammit, Nick."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a lying bastard. I get that. Give me your exact location."

Steve gives him the coordinates. "We probably won't hang around. Bucky's, well. He's pretty intent on not having contact with anyone."

"That's fine. But we need a way to be in touch with you."

"I don't…"

"Get a burner phone. That's an order."

"I don't take orders from you anymore." Then, "What's a burner phone?"

Bucky looks up at Steve, frowning.

"It's a no contract cell phone. Hard to trace, easy to dispose of. You pay by the minute. Get one and call Sam and Romanov with regular updates."

"What about you?"

"Only if it's an emergency."

She smiles. "Okay. Thanks Nick." Then, a sobering thought occurs to her. "Oh, one more thing. Um. Bucky mentioned something that got me thinking. How hard would it have been to, um… uh, harvest my eggs when I was being unfrozen?"

There's a long silence. Then, "Son of a fucking bitch."

"Yeah."

"Under normal circumstances, I would say they didn't have the time. You thawed pretty quickly. But, then, they might have had the science to speed things along." He swears again. "I'll look into it.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Probably should have thought of it when we found out about Hydra. Just what we need to worry about."

"It's probably nothing."

"Or maybe it's not. I'll get on it. You lay low and enjoy your road trip." He hangs up.

Steve looks at Bucky. "Burner phones are hard to trace and easy to dispose of. And Sam won't worry as much if I have a way to contact him regularly."

Bucky reaches for the phone Steve has. He crushes it with his metal hand. "We need to move quickly. Hydra is on its way." He pulls a flash drive out of the computer. "Here."

"What's this?"

"A list of all the remaining Hydra bases and their locations. Their purposes, too. If you ever go back, you can give it to the Avengers."

"You mean when I go back. I can't stay on the road forever."

Bucky gives her a dubious look, but then he nods. It's like he's humoring her.

They raid the house for money, weapons, and supplies. Bucky gets the car and they load it up. They leave just as a Quinjet crests the horizon.

They drive to Minneapolis and find a store where Steve can get a burner phone.

"Mind if I call Sam?" she asks after the purchase is complete.

Bucky nods.

She flips open the phone and dials Sam's number.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Where are you?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm safe," she says instead. "We actually just took down a Hydra safe house, but we're both fine. We got the locations of all their bases around the world."

"That's great, man. But I'd really feel better if you and Bucky came back to DC. He needs help. After what he's been through…"

"I know. But he's not ready. I'm not going to make him do anything he's not ready to do. We're sort of feeling hunted right now."

"Are you?"

She glances at Bucky. "Actually, I'm not sure. Bucky thought he felt someone watching us the other day. We hit a safe house earlier, just to see, but I didn't… it seemed like they were mostly hiding out. Bucky, are we being watched?"

"Inconclusive." He didn't look happy.

"Yeah, we don't know."

"Come home."

"Soon. I promise. I need to go. I'll call you later." She hangs up. "So. What are we going to do now? Where are we going?"

"South Dakota. I've found a cabin in the middle of nowhere."

"Hyrda again?"

He shakes his head. "Found an advertisement online. I want to lie low for a few days."

Steve nods. "Let's go."

* * *

They drive about six hours before stopping at a motel. The next morning, they hit the road early and drive another four. Bucky pulls up in front of a house.

"Stay here," he says.

It's the first time Bucky's left Steve alone since this began. She watches as he walks to the front door of the house and knocks. A moment later, a man in his sixties, tall, gray, clearly ex-military by the way he stands, opens the door. He and Bucky talk for a few minutes. Then, Bucky pulls out a wad of cash and hands it over. The man steps inside the house and comes back out with a key. They shake hands, and then Bucky retunes to the car.

"That's it?" Steve asks when Bucky gets back into the car.

"Yeah. We have it for two weeks. Longer if we want it." He starts the car and they hit the road again.

It's another few hours before they pull off onto a country road. About an hour after that, they pull in front of a cabin.

"Here we are."

They do a quick tour of the house, Bucky going in with his gun, clearing every room before he allows Steve in. Then, they unpack the car of their food and supplies.

The cabin is furnished, rustic, and comfortable. There are books and magazines scattered in neat piles on the tables in the main room. There's a stereo and record player in the corner by the fireplace. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms, both with large, comfortable-looking beds. The water is running and there are even some canned goods in the pantry.

"What do you want to do about sleeping arrangements?" Steve asks as she looks through the linen closet for sheets and blankets.

Bucky frowns and worries his lower lip. "I can sleep on the floor. You take the bed."

"There are two beds, two rooms."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

That's what he says. But what Steve hears is, "I don't want to be alone," and, honestly, she doesn't want to be in a separate room from Bucky either.

"Bed's big enough for the two of us," she says. She unfolds the bottom sheet and spreads it over the bed. "I'm fine with sharing."

Bucky looks relieved. He watches her as she continues to make the bed.

"Enjoying the show?" she asks, feeling a little self-conscious. He's just standing there watching her, like she's his maid or something.

"It's been awhile since… I don't know. I haven't slept in a bed in years, much less seen one being made. Not sure I remembered you had to do that."

"Where did you sleep, then?"

He shrugged. "If I was out long enough, a sleeping bag on the floor. A cot if they were feeling generous. But I usually wasn't out long enough for it to matter. I can go days without sleep."

She smooths the top sheet over the fitted and then starts tucking in the ends. "Hearing things like that makes me want to go after Hydra sooner rather than later." She frowns. "I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"Bucky…"

"You didn't do anything wrong. You were dead."

"I should have gone after you when you fell."

"You would have been crazy to do that. It would have been a waste of resources."

"I don't think so." She looks up at Bucky, meeting his eyes. "If I had even the slightest idea that you were alive…"

"But you didn't. You did what you needed to do." He frowns suddenly. "Except you flew a plane into the ocean and got yourself frozen. Why'd you do that?"

She flushes indignantly. "There wasn't any other way. There were bombs on the plane and they were going to go off. I did what I had to do to save everyone."

"There had to have been another way."

"Not that I could see."

"Then you didn't look hard enough."

"You weren't there." Then she winces. "Because I let you down."

Bucky groans, his head tipping back. "It's like talking to a wall. Was it always like this?"

Steve breaks out into a grin. "Yup. Doesn't it feel great to be talking like this again?"

He snorts which just makes her grin harder.

She tosses the quilt on top of the bed and then brushes her hands. "Okay. So, that's done. Why don't we go downstairs and start on dinner?"

"Why are you always trying to make me eat?"

"Bucky, we're in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. What else are we going to do?"

He thinks about it a moment. Raises an eyebrow and purses his lips.

Steve smothers the smile at his expression.

"All right," he finally says. "But nothing too much, okay?"

"We're working off canned food and pasta. I don't think you have to worry about it being too flavorful for you. Now, let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

That night, they lie side by side in bed. Steve fell asleep hours ago, but Bucky lies awake and listens to her breathe.

If he concentrates, he can almost feel something that wants to be a memory creeping up on him. This feels foreign. Sleeping in a bed. Hearing insects chirping outside. The wind making the trees outside rustle. The cool air from the open window on his face. The softness of the bed beneath him. It feels like lying on a cloud, like he's going to fall through.

But if he concentrates… there's something else. There's a one room apartment and a bed that's too small for the two of them. There's Steve's small body curled up next to him. The heavy sound of her breathing, the whistling on the edge of each breath. He remembers…

And then, it slips away. It's gone, and all that's there are the hard floors he had to lay on, and the hose and the chair and the ice.

It's frustrating. To be so close to remembering, to knowing, and then have it just disappear like that.

He doesn't want to remember Hydra. To remember his years of being nothing more than a weapon. He'd done the work because he'd had no choice. Done it because failure to do it was to be put in the chair and shot full of hot, fiery pain until he did.

Time had had no meaning. Handlers had had no faces. Until Pierce. Pierce, and his flowery words about shaping the century. Of working for a great and glorious tomorrow. Of being important, being an asset.

It's murky, but Bucky can remember Pierce giving speeches like that many times. Almost from the first time he'd appeared. He'd almost treated Bucky like something important, something special. Like he mattered.

He'd never bought it. It was just another way to manipulate him. To get him to do what they wanted. To justify the murders he'd committed.

Those were coming back, too. Faces. Places. Orders. One by one, they were flooding back.

He doesn't want them. What he wants is memories of him and Steve. Any of them. Arguing, laughing, fighting, playing. Anything. He's desperate for it.

Until then, he'll soak up what he can of her. Lay next to her in the dark, listening to her breathe, letting his hand rest against hers and taking comfort in the feel of her skin against his.

* * *

Every morning, Steve wakes up with her fingers interlaced with Bucky's. Which means she wakes up every morning with her heart in her throat and feeling flushed and anxious. Flushed, because feeling Bucky's skin against hers, the warmth of his hand, the rough and soft places of it… it's exciting. It makes her think of other things. Of his lips on hers. Of his lips on other places. Of his hands caressing her body.

Which leads her to remember that one of his hands is different. It's metal. She doesn't want it on her body any less for being what it is, but it reminds her of what's happened to him. Of what's been done. And she feels guilty and ashamed for wanting him when he isn't even himself. Might never be himself again.

She knows that. She accepts that, at least she thinks she does. It's just… there are glimmers of him, more and more every day. When they argue. When they're sitting in the living room, both reading. Or playing gin rummy to pass the time. Just little things Bucky will say, or the way he smiles when he wins the round. It's so much like him—the old him—it makes Steve's heart ache.

She also doesn't want Bucky to wake up and find them holding hands. That's more habit than anything else. It's born of years of hiding how she felt about him, terrified he'd find out. Terrified he'd find out and have to find a way to let her down. She knows he won't be mean about it. He won't laugh at her or act disgusted. But he'll have to explain he doesn't want her like that. Could never want someone like her.

He did kiss her once. Yes, it was just the briefest moment of contact, and Bucky had been half delirious and not really sure she was there, but he had done it. Had it been an accident, or had he really meant to do it? It was something that Steve agonized over. What had that kiss meant?

But Steve never has to worry about Bucky realizing that they hold hands at night. Every morning he wakes the same way: suddenly, in a panic, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room wildly and it isn't until his gaze lands on Steve that he starts to relax, remembering where he is. It's one reason Steve doesn't get out of bed after she wakes; she wants to help ground Bucky, give him something to focus on.

They spend a lot of time wandering the woods around the cabin. They don't talk much when they hike, just enjoy the sunshine and the fresh air. Bucky seems more relaxed out here than he did in the Chicago. His shoulders aren't as tense, and he carries less weapons. He still carries weapons, of course, but it's less than it had been in the city.

They go into town a couple of times for supplies. Bucky insists on going to an art store, where he buys paints, brushes, and a few canvases for Steve, along with a couple art books. They also buy some board games and books. Steve doesn't know how long Bucky plans for them to stay, but she doesn't want to be bored out of her mind while they're there.

Truth is, she kind of likes the isolation and rest. She can't remember the last time she was able to just relax. Maybe she never had. After her mom had died, it'd been a struggle just to survive. Even at the boy's home where her basic needs had been taken care of—food, shelter, clothing—she hadn't exactly been able to let go. Every moment, she'd been aware that she could be discovered. Discovered, cast out… or worse.

After Bucky had found out her secret, and they'd moved out, life had been… rough. Bucky had insisted Steve stay in school, so although she worked evenings, they'd basically lived off one income. And while she'd been able to sell the occasional cartoon to a newspaper which brought it extra money, they'd barely scraped by. It'd been better after she'd gotten through art school and gotten a steady job. Bucky had been working a good job by then, too, but they'd never lived flush. They'd had some fun, but life had been hard.

Then there'd been the war. And then, she'd woken up in the future. And, truthfully, she hadn't known how to deal with it, so she'd buried herself in work. It'd been easier to be busy. She hadn't had to deal with it all. Deal with the reality of having lost Bucky, having essentially lost Peggy, and being trapped in a century that didn't make sense to her.

No wonder she'd been unable to tell Sam what made her happy. What had made her happiest was nights home with Bucky, playing games or sitting on the couch, her buried in her sketchpad and him with his nose in a book. But with Bucky gone, she'd never tried to find something that would give her the same feeling.

And now… well. She couldn't say she had that back, because who knew how long this respite would last. But she had Bucky. And they spent their evenings sitting in the same room, Steve with her feet up, sketchpad on her lap and Bucky reading. And, damn, if she isn't the happiest she's been since she'd woken up.

* * *

The canvases start wearing on Steve's mind. After a week, she finally pulls one out and sets it up on the easel Bucky had bought. Painting's never really been her go-to method of artistic expression, but she has painted, and Bucky had gotten her the canvases and paints to make her happy. She wants to make him happy by using them.

She goes back and forth, trying to decide what to draw, when the image of her and Bucky in their old apartment comes to her. Not any specific day; it could have been any of number of days. Just the two of them, her sitting in the window, sketchbook on her knee and him stretched out on the couch, reading. Bucky had always loved science fiction. He read anything he could get his hands on: Lovecraft, Burrows, Asimov, E.E. "Doc." Smith. Bucky read them all.

Most nights, Bucky read out loud to Steve while she sketched. He had such a calm, soothing voice. He changed his voice with every new character, so they were all distinct. He modulated his pace according to the action, getting faster and faster when the tension was highest. Steve sometimes had gotten so drawn into the story, she'd stopped sketching and had just listened, enthralled.

Man, she hadn't thought about those nights for so long. It'd been too painful.

But now, it all comes flooding back, and she finds herself sketching the scene onto the canvas, mentally adding shadows and light, imagining how she'll lay the paint.

She sets up the canvas in the best lit corner of the room. Opens the paints and picks up the brushes. For a long moment, she just sits there and stares at the canvas, breathing. In her mind's eyes, she sees herself dipping the brush in the paint. Drawing the paint over the canvas. The paint spreading out, seeping into the fabric, taking hold.

When she can see the painting start to take shape, she takes a deep breath and begins.

It takes a while. She's hesitant and slow, overthinking each stroke. But, finally, she falls into the rhythm of it and everything melts away. Their old place takes shape: the drab gray walls, the dusty floor, the faded green sofa they'd dragged in from the street. Bucky, stretched on the sofa, hair short, face clean-shaven. A book obscures part of his face, but his eyes are bright, and his fingers are poised to turn the pages of the book with a bright red cover. Steve paints herself in the window, sitting on the sill, one leg tucked under her, sketchpad on her knee, the other standing. It hadn't been the most comfortable position, but it'd been the best to draw.

She loses time as she paints. She's enthralled, watching the scene unfold before her. Seeing it take shape. Seeing home.

It seems like only a moment, but she slowly becomes away of the smell of coffee and soup. She blinks and tears her eyes from the canvas.

Bucky is sitting on a nearby chair. He's got a book open in his lap, but his eyes are on her. He's got a fond look on his face. A familiar look. It's so achingly familiar that Steve's breath catches because that's _her_ Bucky sitting right there. That's his expression, the way he looks at her.

"Welcome back," he says. No. Drawls.

She blinks and swallows. Her throat is scratchy, and her mouth is dry. "How long have I been painting?" she asks. She realizes the light's all wrong. It'd been bright and sunny, but now the sun's moved and she's standing in a shadow.

"A few hours. I thought you might be hungry." He nods at the table next to her.

There's a bowl of soup, a grilled cheese, and a mug of coffee on it.

She suddenly realizes that she's famished. She put her brush down and reaches for the sandwich. Of course, her hands are covered with paint.

"I better go wash up."

She washes her hands in the kitchen and returns. "You just been sitting there watching me?" she asks, sitting down and tucking into her food.

"Not the whole time. I read. Played solitaire. Tried talking to you a few times, but you just hummed back."

Steve feels her face growing warm. "Sorry about that."

He waves his hand. "Good to see you painting."

"Didn't want your gift to go to waste." She turns the canvas so he can see it more clearly. "Recognize it? We used to live there."

Bucky studies the painting a moment, then nods hesitantly. "We got the couch at the dump?"

"Eh, it was on the street, but close enough. It was destined for the dump. Probably should have wound up there. It was really uncomfortable; lots of springs sticking through and stains in the fabric. But we needed it."

Bucky nods, eyes still on the painting. "Was there a dog?"

"What?"

"I keep remembering a dog. And you being hurt."

She frowns, wondering what he's talking about. Then it hits her. "Oh, wow, I'd forgotten about that. Yeah, after one of the times I tried to join the Army, I found a bunch of kids hurting a dog. I tried to help it, and they beat the crap out of me. We only kept the dog the night, though. Gave it away to a kid in the neighborhood."

Bucky nods. "I remember. The dog slept on the bed between us. It kept kicking me."

She laughs. "I think it kicked you off the bed once or twice."

"I told you that it had to sleep on the floor."

"But you didn't argue when it was time for bed. Just rolled your eyes."

He thinks a moment, then says, "I let you get away with a lot."

"Yeah, you did. But I think it came down to you actually liking the dog."

Bucky looks dubious but doesn't argue.

Steve slowly chews her grilled cheese, remembering that night. "Those kids kicked the tar out of me. I had bruises all over. Almost lost a tooth."

"Why'd you fight?"

"Because it was the right thing to do. They shouldn't have been hurting that dog."

"But it was okay to hurt you?"

"At least I could defend myself."

He snorts. "Clearly not."

Steve smiles wryly. "Giving up, backing down… it just never felt right. Bullies don't stop because you don't respond. They just get louder. At least that way, I had my say. Even if I lost."

"You don't lose any more."

"I don't know. Taking down SHIELD… doesn't feel like winning. I mean, it had to be done; the core was rotten, and it had to be exposed. But a lot of good people got caught in the crossfire. I feel bad about that."

"You got caught in the crossfire. Got your secret exposed."

She sighs heavily and rubs her eyes. "Maybe it was past time for me to reveal it. I mean, it's a mess. I always knew there were going to be people who hated me because of what I am. But there are people who hated me because of who I am before, too. I guess I was scared."

"You had a reason to be."

"When I was living in the forties, yes. When I was ninety-eight pounds soaking wet, yes. But now?" She shakes her head. "They can come at me, Buck, but I can take it. Physically and mentally." She takes a sip of her coffee. "There are a lot of people like me. I should have stood up for them, represented them. Been brave enough for them."

Bucky is silent for a long time. He sits there, deep in thought. Finally, he stirs and says, "Or, maybe you deserved to have something for yourself. To be just yourself for once. It's all well and good to stand up for the little guys. But you gotta keep something for yourself. And you don't do that very well."

"Maybe. And it was nice, knowing that I didn't have to be afraid, even if I kind of was. But it was for different reasons. And maybe I didn't really believe I could be myself. Or, maybe I don't really know who I am."

"You still need to be careful."

"I know. I will be." She looks at Bucky and smiles. "You know we can't stay on the run forever, right?"

He lets out a long, slow breath. "I know."

"So. What are we going to do?"

Bucky rubs his cheek, and then glances out the window. "Sun's setting. Why don't we go out and watch the sunset?"

"Buck…"

"Just give me this, Steve. Okay? I'm not ready to decide."

And that, she understood. Oh, boy, did she understand.

"Okay. Let's go watch the sunset."


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky does not watch the sunset. He watches the way the sun makes Steve's face glow, and the soft smile on Steve's face as she relaxes in the last rays. He watches her watch the first stars begin to twinkle in the sky.

He watches her.

That night, he lies next to her and listens to her breath. He rests his hand next to hers, touching her skin, smelling her scent. He drifts off, his head full of her.

And he wakes up, hours later, his fingers interlaced with hers, rolled onto his side, face buried in her neck, completely hard in his shorts.

For a moment, he lies there, heart pounding, not sure what's happening. This is new. This is… something…

Images associated with the hardness begin to flood him. Naked bodies. Skin against skin. Mouths sucking, licking, biting.

Steve, lying in bed, her shirt off, him rubbing her stomach. His hands on hers. Trailing on her skin. Following the path with his mouth, and…

 _No_.

He lurches back, yanking his hand from hers. Rolling off the bed and tumbling to the floor.

Steve sits up and rubs her eyes. "Bucky? You okay?"

He can't let her see. He scrambles backward, willing his hardness away. The panic is helping, but he can't think straight.

He knows he never touched her. Not like that. Not with his mouth. But he knew he wanted to. Had wanted to, did want to.

He wants her. Wants her naked and in his arms and…

 _No!_

"Buck, what's wrong?" She is sliding off the bed, crouching in front of him. "Talk to me."

He can't breathe. Can't believe himself. All this time, he's been trying to protect her, protect her from being hurt, from being used. And, all this time, he was one of the people who wanted to use her.

"I gotta go," he croaks.

"What? Bucky, we're fine. We're safe here."

He shakes his head and stands. Goes to the closet and grabs his duffel. Starts shoving clothes and weapons in it. "No. I need to go."

He hears her huff out a breath. "Okay. Where are we going?"

Bucky shoves the last gun into the duffel. Grabs his pants and yanks them on.

Steve goes to the closet and takes out her duffel, but Bucky is too fast for her. He yanks her away and slams the closet shut. Then he pulls on his shirt and looks at her. "Alone."

"What?" Her mouth falls open, shocked, and had he really not realized how beautiful she was? Okay, maybe not conventionally, but to Bucky, she is a masterpiece. All he can think about is taking her into his arms and kissing her until she can't breathe.

Shaking his head, he grabs his boots. Shoves his feet inside.

"Bucky, you can't leave. Not without me. What happened? What are you remembering?"

"I… I… I…" He can't think of anything to say. So, he grabs his duffel and heads downstairs.

She clambers down behind him. "Bucky. Bucky, wait. Stop. You're having a panic attack. I have them too. You just need to sit down and…"

Bucky whirls. Grabs her and slams her into the wall. Before she can fight back, he pushes his body against her, so they're pressed shoulder to toe.

And he kisses her.

Deep. Hard. Almost painful, because their teeth knock together and their noses mash.

This isn't right.

He tilts his head. Tries again.

There it is.

Against the wall, Steve goes limp. Melts, boneless, against the wall.

No. Not right. He needs to protect her, not assault her. Not dirty her with the mess of a half-human he is.

Bucky tears his mouth away. Turns and runs out the door.

He's leaving her alone. Without transportation. Without protection. But now he knows. He knows the most dangerous threat to her of all.

Him.

* * *

Steve sits in front of the cabin, watching as Sam maneuvers his rented car up the rocking road. She's numb. Completely. Still in the same state of shock and confusion she's been in since Bucky left over a day ago.

Has it really only been a day? Feels like forever. Like an eternity.

Sam stops the car and climbs out. His face is serious as he walks up to her. "You okay?" he asks as soon as he's in front of her.

She nods.

"Don't give me that. You look like hell. Did he hurt you?"

"No." Her throat is closed up, and her denial is the merest whisper of a sound.

She clears her throat. "No. No, he didn't hurt me. I told you, he was trying to protect me."

"Then why do you look like he stomped your favorite puppy to death?"

She blinks rapidly. "He left. And he didn't say why."

Sam sighs and sits on the bench next to Steve. "What happened?"

"I don't know." She rubs at her eyes. "We were asleep, and he woke up. Violently. Like a nightmare. And I woke up and asked what was wrong. He said he had to leave. Packed and left."

"That's all?" Sam sounds dubious.

Her face goes up in flames. "He kissed me."

There a long silence. "Oh." Sam clears his throat. "Is that all he did?"

"Yes," she says sharply. "He wouldn't… Bucky would never…"

"Okay. Okay. But just because Bucky would never doesn't mean the Winter Soldier…"

"He's not…" She shakes her head. "He was Bucky. Maybe not the Bucky I knew, not completely, but he was Bucky."

"All right." Sam rubs the back of his neck. "Was that something you two did before? Kiss?"

Still flushing hotly, she shakes her head.

"Did you ever want to?"

Her throat closes up again, but she forces herself to nod. "I never told him, though," she forces out, sounding choked. "Never could get up the nerve. It was too important to have him as a friend. And he wouldn't have wanted…." She trails off.

"What wouldn't he have wanted?"

"Someone as messed up as me. Not even knowing if I was a man or a woman. It was easier just to say… to say I liked women. Because I do. But, oh man," she sighs. "Do I love him."

Sam puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. "Okay, but let's look at the facts. He spent his life trying to protect your secret. Putting you back together after you got beat up. He joined your elite squad of commandos even when he should have been sent home with an honorable discharge after being tortured. And he's spent the last few weeks desperate to keep you safe from imagined enemies. Maybe his feelings run deeper than just being your brother. Maybe he loves you back."

Her eyes burn. "Then why did he leave?"

"I don't know. But he's not stable, Steve. He's got major trauma. People don't always act rationally in the best of times. In his state… I'm just surprised this is the worse of what happened."

She lets out a shuddery breath. Nods. "What do I do now?"

"Well. I say we go home. Take a few days to breathe. And then, let's try to find him."

"What if he doesn't want to be found?"

"Then you need to accept that and move on with your life."

Her chest feels like it's about to split in two. When she looks at Sam, his face wavers. "Sam…"

He sighs and nods. "I know, Steve." He squeezes her shoulder again. "I know."

Steve lets out a long, shuddering breath and closes her eyes. She doesn't understand what happened. Everything had been going so well. Bucky had been getting better, more comfortable in his skin. More like his old self. And then… What?

She isn't going to give up. She'll keep looking for him, even if he doesn't want to be found. And, in the meantime, she'll contact the Avengers. Get them to reassemble. Go after Hydra. She'll find out if they've stole from her and Bucky and deal with whatever she finds.

And, one day, she will get Bucky back. One way or another, she will.

Until then, she'll treasure this brief, unexpected interlude that she and Bucky had shared. And, she'll keep hope for the future.

It's the only way she'll survive without him. Although, now that she knows he's in the world, and that he's safe, the future doesn't seem as empty as it did before.

Fin


End file.
